Shadows of Jamie
818 Words
The text still burned on her screen. We know why you’re here.
Her stomach twisted. She had deleted it instantly, but the words lingered in her head long after she closed her eyes. Who sent it? Antoine? One of his men? Or someone else who had been watching her since she set foot in Vegas?
By morning, fear had sharpened into anger. She hadn’t come here to be intimidated. She had come for revenge.
Still, when Antoine’s men appeared in the lobby of her hotel that evening, she almost faltered. Two of them, broad-shouldered, suited, silent. They escorted her wordlessly to the waiting car.
No invitation this time. No choice.
Her heartbeat thundered as the car threaded through the city, climbing away from the strip into darker, quieter streets. When the car stopped before a secluded villa of glass and steel, Georgina realized this wasn’t dinner. This was something else.
They led her inside. The air was cool, the lighting dim. And there he was—Antoine. Waiting, as though he had known all along that she’d walk into his trap.
He watched her enter. Controlled stride, chin lifted, but her eyes betrayed her. Wide. Sharp. Searching for exits.
So, she wasn’t fearless after all. Good. Fear kept people honest.
“Georgina,” he said softly, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Sit.”
She didn’t move. Her defiance stirred something deep in him, something equal parts admiration and irritation.
“Why am I here?” she asked, her voice steady.
He leaned back, letting silence stretch. Testing her. “Because I don’t like mysteries in my city. And you, Georgina… you are one.”
Her lips curved faintly, though tension flickered in her eyes. “Maybe I just like the view.”
He almost laughed. Almost. “Then why does it feel like you’re looking for something more?”
Her shoulders stiffened. There. A c***k in her armor.
Antoine rose slowly, circling the table until he stood in front of her. Close enough to feel the heat of her body, close enough to see her pulse hammering at her throat.
“You’re not who you say you are,” he murmured. “And I don’t have patience for liars.”
Her skin prickled under his words. He was too close, too sharp, and it was taking everything in her not to break.
She forced a laugh. “And what do you think I’m lying about? My name? My dress size?”
His eyes narrowed. “Your purpose.”
Her breath caught. Did he know? Could he see Jamie’s ghost in her face?
He reached out suddenly, tilting her chin up with two fingers. His touch was light, but her body trembled anyway. “Tell me why you came here, Georgina.”
She swallowed hard. Lies crowded her tongue—dozens of them, ready to spill. But her throat felt tight, like his gaze pinned her down and stripped the words away.
“I wanted…” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “I wanted to feel alive again.”
For a moment, something flickered across his face—recognition, maybe even understanding. And that was more dangerous than anger.
Because it almost made her want to believe it herself.
Her answer was too vague, too careful. He didn’t buy it. But damn her, he wanted to.
He had built his empire on reading people, and everything about her screamed secret. But beneath that secret was something raw. Something he wasn’t sure she even understood herself.
And he wanted to tear it open.
His hand lingered at her jaw, just a second too long, before he pulled back. “Alive, hm?” He let the word roll in his mouth, testing her. “Vegas can give you that. But it can also kill you for it.”
She didn’t flinch. She met his gaze like she was daring him to try.
Antoine’s lips curved faintly. Dangerous woman.
And yet, he couldn’t shake the thought: dangerous for him.
The confrontation left her rattled, but she refused to let him see it. She rose, brushing past him toward the door.
“I should go.”
“Not yet.” His voice stopped her cold. Low. Commanding.
She turned slowly. “You don’t own me, Antoine.”
“No,” he said. “But I will find out what you’re hiding.”
Her blood chilled.
And then, as if the universe wanted to twist the knife deeper, she spotted it again. On the desk behind him. That torn notebook page. Jamie’s handwriting, stark and damning under the lamplight.
Her breath hitched before she could stop it. Too sharp, too telling.
Antoine followed her gaze. His eyes darkened.
For one suspended second, the mask slipped on both sides. She knew he saw it—that flash of recognition, the unmistakable connection to the past she carried like a wound.
- Writer
